


Just Desserts!

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:34:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a beautiful visitor decides to help herself to the 'delicious buffet' HQ had presented her with in the persons of Garrison and his men, she causes offence on various levels.  No one was quite sure how Meghada would react, though Casino was rather hoping for an all out cat fight (maybe with mud involved?).  Somehow, their volatile redhead hosting an elegant dinner party for the luscious pianist, regaling her with an amusing anecdote, and treating her to a very special dessert - well, that wasn't what anyone expected!





	Just Desserts!

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know the correct spelling of the term is 'just deserts', meaning 'getting what you deserve', but considering the topic, a little play on the spelling seemed appropriate.

It wasn't what they were used to, of course. They were more accustomed to being sent to blow up something, steal something, impersonate or kidnap someone. Sometimes all of the above in one mission even. It also usually included having someone shooting at them. It was kinda nice to have something put on their plate that didn't involve someone trying to kill them or jumping out of airplanes. Obviously someone up at HQ was being benevolent; or highly stupid; or intended this to backfire on them somehow. But since the first was unlikely and the last two pretty much normal, they just shrugged and figured it was time they'd caught a break.

So neither Garrison nor the team were particularly upset with being assigned to watch over the lovely Signorina Montarelli, piano virtuoso while she was in London, though Craig Garrison was more than a little worried about putting Actor and Casino around such a tempting creature, and Goniff anywhere near all the glittery bits and pieces the woman surrounded herself with. It wasn't that Goniff was immune to feminine charms, of course; he just had his own priorities, along with a highly developed sense of self-preservation, and those who would think poorly of him indulging elsewhere. Chief was the only one Garrison felt he could trust to keep his hands to himself and away from ANY of the valuables! But it was Chief who precipitated that dinner party, that very remarkable dinner party that ended up being the talk of London for awhile.

"Figured you'd be givin her the word, sooner or later, and wanted to ask, when your warnin her off Goniff and the Warden, any chance you could include me? Casino seems okay with it, though with Casino you cant always tell, likes to play the big man with the ladies, might be embarrassed to let on if it bothers him, and you know Actor; a classy dame, a ritzy party, he aint gonna kick up a fuss. But I dont much like being handled like a chicken in the market with someone trying to figure out if I'm worth takin home," Chief told her, and from the look in his eye, he was quite serious. 

She'd just gotten home, had just heard from Chief about the voluptuous and seemingly insatiable Signorina Montarelli and felt justifiably annoyed. She'd made a few calls and found out that the woman wasn't vicious or dangerous, but had a rather voracious appetite for men, most men, lots of men, and didn't seem to understand the meaning of limits or 'boundaries'. 

"I can do that; it might have repercussions," she warned.

"Dont matter; dont want her feeling around or dippin her hand inside like she did with . . ." and he stopped, realizing she hadn't known just how far the lovely Signorina Montarelli had gone in her investigations. That much was obvious by the cold look in Meghada's eyes.

"And just who did she 'dip'?"

That look changed to pure molten fire when he told her. "Goniff for sure; Warden just got felt up. Casino, yeah, least I think so. Actor, he wouldn't say. Me, I got away, but not by much; got my ass handled real good though before."

"Now why didn't they mention that when we spoke earlier, I wonder?" she murmured.

"Probly cause of this," and he took her shoulders and faced her into the mirror, one of the few who could have touched her with such impunity. "Take a look," and she had to admit Chief had the right of it. That look would probably be somewhat off-putting.

"You should know, though, they weren't any too happy about it either, but it's hard to do much about it in a crowded room. The Warden, she backed him into a corner, but he got called away by some guy, and she had to pull her fingers away real fast, but he was already turning a real funny shade of pink. And for Goniff and the guys, tellin a lady to get her damned hand outta your pants or off yer . . . Well, aint so easy with you holding a tray filled with drinks and thirty people standing around, and her skirts hiding just what she's doing."

She admitted, he was right. They couldn't perhaps; she just thought she might find a way. Oh, she was damned sure she'd find a way!

She was more than sure when Chief added, "and that perfume a hers; she puts it on her fingers, and whatever she touches, takes a hell of a lot of scrubbing to get it off! Thought Goniff was gonna scrub himself raw trying to get rid of it, and the Warden had to send his uniform out to try and get it out and said he could STILL smell it! Didnt help when Casino teased em about scrubbing their balls off in order to keep you from rippin em off! And when he suggested a 'sniff test', thought they were both gonna throw him outta the window! He's trying to figure the odds on your clocking her, maybe into a mud puddle; says mud wrestling can be real exciting, specially when it's two dames gettin all wet and muddy. Course, all that perfume, both him and Actor were spending extra time in the shower, too, so figure they didn't much like it either."

Then he re-thought, and gave her a quick grin, "or maybe they did" and she laughed along with him.

Cocktails were served, and Garrison's men had showed up at this imposing residence late afternoon and once again served as waiters and undercover guards to the visiting pianist, not to their particular pleasure, being somewhat uneasy about the whole evening, but still, overall, doing an admirable job.

The Signorina Montarelli was amused to notice that the hostess, a young woman of quiet elegance and poise, seemed to be getting on rather familiar terms with each of them, pausing, touching each of them either on their arm or their shoulder as if tidying their uniforms, paying particular attention to the young dark man and the slender blond, actually brushing their hair back off their foreheads with her fingers, smiling in appreciation, getting knowing smiles from them as she did so.

Well, she could hardly blame the woman; they were all rather delicious, as the Signorina could attest. She was rather looking forward to sampling a bit more, next time with a bit more privacy, when they were all back in the comfortable quarters that had been provided her in Mayfair, not far away. She was to be in London for another several days; she could get quite a bit of sampling done in that time.

And as the blond Lieutenant Garrison stopped to smile and whisper something to the young redhead and the young woman laid her hand on his arm, then brushed his hair back as well, getting a warm glance and chuckle, the Signorina could only applaud her taste. Yes, it seemed that they had quite similar tastes; varied, but delightful in every way. She was glad she was seated next to the young woman; the evening should prove most entertaining and might lead to something even more entertaining. Yes, that was certainly a possibility.

The dinner party was going well, food and wine quite exceptional, conversation sparkling. The lovely Signorina inquired of the young woman who had arranged this evening's affair, as the discussion turned, logically enough, to music and musical works and performing. A smile and a gentle self-depreciating laugh came in reply.

"Ah, no, I limit myself to other pursuits now, and mostly the harp and the guitar, not the piano. I was considered quite talented as a child, but had an incident when I was young and foolish that caused me to rather lose my enthusiasm in that direction." Her voice was clear and melodic, and carried quite well; certainly the Signorina and her entourage and most if not all the guests could hear quite clearly. Her eyes never left that of the visiting virtuoso. 

"There was someone who had some rather rare and exquisite pianos, quite unique. They quite fascinated me; I could imagine myself playing them, making the most beautiful music." She laughed gently, inviting the Signorina to share her amusement.

"Well, you know how that is, of course, the temptation to enjoy a fine instrument you have not yet experienced. Then, when I was a guest in their home, I'm afraid I did something quite impertinent, quite inappropriate and rude. I laid my hands on those delightful instruments without permission, dared to touch them, stroked the keys with such pleasure, relishing the feel, the promise. I had thought I was alone, that no one had seen." Her voice dropped dramatically, then . . .

"All of a sudden, the key cover came crashing! down, taking off the tips of my fingernails!!!"

Everyone in the room, including the Signorina, jumped as the young woman's voice and outflung hands illustrated that moment so clearly! The Signorina found herself clutching her hands tightly in response to that so vivid image. 

"The owner was standing there, most concerned, and told me I had been lucky, it might actually have been my fingertips. Things like that can happen when trying to play instruments not your own, she told me." She gave a rueful little laugh.

"Somehow, that image has remained with me; I've managed to keep my fingers off instruments that belong to someone else ever since, restricting myself to those that are mine alone" her eyes darting over to the side of the room where those particular four waiters were standing against the wall, lingering on them, then transferring her gaze to Craig Garrison, seated across from her, then returning her gold-brown eyes, those eyes somehow holding just a bit of a challenging glitter, to the rather pale Signorina.

"Ah, how valuable are the lessons we learn in childhood! At least, we learn if we are wise and, perhaps, very lucky."

She smiled gently, and shook her head slightly as if amused at that thoughtless child; yet her eyes were not those of a child, and the Signorini swallowed heavily as she considered the story she'd just been told and read the message in the eyes, the face in front of her.

Still, she thought of another route the young woman might find interesting, and worked that into the conversation, only to be disappointed with the woman's firm but slightly amused refusal. Their conversation was then interrupted with the serving of dessert.

With the dessert course being served, the message was complete. Individual white plates, a slender oval in shape - the dessert? Ladyfingers, long, slender and white, delicately formed of sweet sponge cake, floating in raspberry sauce, each tipped with a 'fingernail' crafted from a toasted almond. Four, each of appropriate lengths, extended out, one much shorter, to the side. An extra drizzle of the rich red sauce had been delicately applied over the pastries at the end without the almond.

"As an homage to your talent, and your most valuable assets," the smiling young woman explained, tilting her head, looking at the dessert, obviously pleased at the result on the plate before her.

Others in the room weren't so sure; the result was a bit macabre, to tell the truth. Still, they were sure their hostess had meant well. Although the Signorina had turned just a trifle green, though perhaps that was just the lighting.

Major Richards expressed just that after dinner, during the socializing. "It was a truly clever idea, Meghada, but I have to say the effect was perhaps a little . . ."

And he watched her eyes, saw the slight arch of one brow, and saw the effect was exactly what she had intended, and he swallowed heavily. As the redhead moved away, mingling with the other guests, he asked in a low voice, "just what was that all about?"

And Actor, standing alongside, wry smile on his face, "you heard the recounting of the story Meghada told, yes? Well, the lovely lady let her very talented fingers stray onto that which belongs to someone else, my dear Major. I do not believe Meghada was particularly amused. We can only hope the message was received; it would be a pity otherwise. She really does play the piano exquisitely."

Actor sighed; he hadn't particularly minded those fingers, though he had thought the setting rather outre, and would have preferred a more private one, and certainly could have done without the perfume; it had been rather difficult to free himself of. Still, he could see Meghada's point of view. And seeing the rather strained smile on the lovely Italian pianist, he rather thought she did too.

Later, back at the Cottage, "I can't believe you did that, Meghada. That dessert was appalling!"

"Sounds ruddy wonderful, Craig!" Goniff protested. "Don't get raspberries 'ardly ever, not anymore, and over sponge, well, that's something I'd not mind getting myself around a plate of!"

"Well, that's because you were so busy thinking about how it'd taste, you didn't take a really good look at it, Goniff! Lady fingers, piped to look just like that, like a woman's fingers!, fingernails and all, laying in a pool of dark red, with more red sprayed over them! At a dinner for a pianist! Yeah, tasted great, once you got past the look! But more than half the people at the table couldn't get that far; think those plates went back to the kitchen untouched! I know the Signorina didn't touch hers! You don't play nice, Meghada!" 

She chuckled, "no, I don't, do I, Craig? And don't worry, laddie. I brought back a sampling of the dessert; it's in the cold box for later, along with an extra jar of the raspberry sauce," grinning at Goniff, who grinned back with delight.

The redhead stretched her arms above her head and moved her body in a long swaying motion, thoroughly replete from the activities of the evening. Craig had to admit it was more than a little appealing, especially with her laying between them on that wide bed. She touched him on his cheek and smiled, smiled back over her shoulder at the slender blond man, turning her head to kiss him on the side of his wide mouth, him, her own blond laddie, her love.

"No, I suppose I don't play nice. But at least it was a female pianist; think of what I could have come up with if it had been a male taking such liberties. Hmmmm, that might have been a bit more challenging. What do you think of bananas and plums flambe as a dessert?" only to have her mouth blocked by a laughing kiss from her blond laddie, while Craig shuddered at the thought, and held her tightly in his arms. Still, part of his mind was drifting to the question, {"wonder where she'd have found bananas for her flambe?? Haven't seen any since the rationing."}. Knowing Meghada, if she decided she needed them to make a point, however, she'd locate some! 

Soon, though, his mind drifted away from such things as menu planning, and onto other things, things not yet rationed, things hopefully never to be rationed. Later, the focus returned to the idea of menu planning, specifically that extra jar of raspberry sauce.

"No."

"But, 'Gaida . . ."

"No, I said. Aside from it being sticky, it's also far too cold and filled with tiny seeds that could get in the oddest places, and do you have any idea how Mrs. Wilson will react to trying to get raspberry stains out of the sheets???"

All of this while Craig was laughing hysterically from the safety of the bedroom. His state was not helped when he heard the plaintive sigh and a hopeful new suggestion, "well, there's a bit of that treacle syrup left. It might be sticky, but it aint cold, and there's no seeds." He broke off his laughter and sat up in some alarm when he heard an answer he was NOT expecting, "well, at least that would be easier on the sheets!"

{"Sometimes, I know just how Alice felt when she fell through that rabbit hole!"} turning his attention to the two making their way back through the door from the kitchen. He looked with some trepidation at that little open handle'd bottle his pickpock was swinging by one finger, and his qualms were not eased one little bit by that wicked smile, a smile shared by the young redhead beside him. {"Just like Alice!"}

"Signore Montarelli? You are related to the Signorina Montarelli, the pianist?"

"But of course, Miss O'Donnell. I had been called away for a few days and had to miss the dinner you were so kind as to give for my Caterina; however, I have heard much about that evening from my colleagues. It appears you and my lovely wife have much in common."

The dark haired gentleman in the fine suit was seated in the library of the Mansion. He had called to the Cottage, but Meghada had declined his request for a meeting at her home, or to travel to London to meet with him. She didn't like strangers in her home, did not invite strangers there, and saw no reason to put herself out so far as to make a two hour drive without good reason. 

It appears Signore Montarelli was not the type to be easily discouraged.

Meghada had received a call from Kevin Richards, requesting her presence at the Mansion, and specified she was to be dressed in something other than gardening clothes or in her 'relaxation attire'. That was presented in a very dry voice from the British Major.

She grinned at the memory. Within the past few weeks he had arrived at the Cottage unannounced on two occasions. The first time she had been digging over the oldest of the raised beds, dumping in and digging under the pile of well-rotted manure, used urine-soaked stable straw, and compost she'd just had delivered in preparation for planting in a few months. She was filthy and odiferous, to say the least, her clothes a disaster. He had not been impressed. The second time, he had made his way in through the kitchen door and discovered her and her blond laddie, both quite clean, in fact still slightly damp, from a recent shower; clothing was not an issue, clothing not being present. Richards had been horrified, not just at the situation, but at the very vague and offhand manner in which she suggested he leave, and that "now, if you don't mind, Kevin" before she returned her attention back to the man in whose arms she was entwined. The quick smug grin from the slender pickpocket had not helped his disposition one little bit. He tried to tell himself he was not impressed then either, though for the blond Englishman to maintain his composure, not to mention his aplomb, along with everything else, in such circumstances, well . . .

Now, here in the Library, she was greeted to the sight of Major Richards having a somewhat tense drink with this tall elegantly clad stranger. She turned a somewhat jaundiced eye on her old friend, "payback, Kevin?"

He flushed, "not at all. The Signore requested this meeting, and Whitehall requested my assistance in making it happen. I explained that you do not receive strangers at your home, so this seemed like a reasonable compromise. You will have privacy; I have requested Garrison and his men not to intrude."

She accepted a glass of a rather nice red wine, and nodded graciously to Montarelli. "Very well, sir. You wished to meet me? You have achieved that. To what end, might I ask?" 

"As I said, it appears you and my wife have a great deal in common. You are also quite talented, I am told, both as a singer and as a writer. And I have come to ask a favor." She lifted her brows at that.

"I don't know that she and I have much in common, Signore. But aside from that, what might this favor be?"

Kevin Richards gaped at the answer, a gracious but remarkably blunt, "I wish to understand, about the sex, you see. My wife, she simply waves away the question, but it is important to me that I understand. And I thought you might be so kind as to explain to me." He sat back as if that said it all, when, to Meghada's mind, it said nothing.

To the men in the Common Room next door, all listening with all their might, Lieutenant Craig Garrison among them, it didn't say a hell of a lot either. Though it sure raised a hell of a lot of questions! 

She shook her head, trying to suppress an impatient sigh, "explain what, Signore?" She was really too busy for this kind of nonsense.

"The insatiable desire, the needing of so many men in your bed, always searching for someone new, someone different, tiring of them and moving on to the next passing fancy within a day or two. I am not condemning, I assure you; I would not be so impertinent, I accept that talent, genius, has its privileges; I wish merely to understand."

The silence was deafening, other than a gasping choke coming from next door. Major Richards literally had his jaw hanging open. Then a twitch of her lips, working its way into a wry grin, eyes blinking rapidly.

Richards spoke up, "just where did you get such a ludicrous idea??!"

And a low laugh now coming from the redhead, "no, it's alright, Kevin. I think I understand." 

"Ruddy well 'ope you do, cause I sure as 'ell don't," came as a deep growl from the short blond man standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, just where do you get off comin in here, spouting off like that??! Hey, kid, want us to toss this jerk out on his keister?"

A well-built dark haired man was scowling at him, looking over the shoulder of the blond.

"Alright, guys, move on in," came from the taller blond in the American military uniform, and the two other men, both dark, one tall, one smaller, followed them in. None were in such a good frame of mind, that was obvious.

Richards tried, "Garrison, it would be best . . ." only to be stopped at the exclamation from Signore Montarelli and his upheld hand. The descriptions he'd received from their party were too exact for him to be mistaken, yet, it didn't seem possible for them to be here.

"But, you, you are the ones . . ." and looked at the slender blond, the one with the icy pale blue eyes, his hand at the shoulder of the young woman. Montarelli looked at the expressions on the men's faces, at the young woman, and sat down, heavily. 

"Is it possible I have misunderstood? It was not that you simply both had the same ones catch your eye at the same time? They were not a momentary, ah, what is the word, 'fancy'? They are 'in your life'? Your own 'entourage'?"

She looked around the room, pausing at each face, before returning to look the tall gentleman in the eyes.

"No, not momentary, not a passing fancy. They are most certainly 'in my life'. They are mine, Signore, all of them, in one sense or another. No matter what you may have been told, that was not a cat fight over some stray mice; your Caterina forgot her manners and touched that which is not hers to touch, that which does not belong to her. She did not bother to inquire whether they might belong to someone else, or whether they were even interested in her games. Frankly, Signore, I'm surprised someone hasn't called her on it before; making such assumptions, it's a very bad, possibly dangerous habit."

He looked bewildered, "called her on it? I do not understand," and Actor, hiding a grin, gave a fast explanation in Italian.

"Ah, yes, I understand," the man said with a deep sigh and a shrug. "A bad habit, yes, and a long standing one. I myself have never understood it; it is not as if she is . . . ". and turned to Actor to provide the English for his Italian.

"I believe the colloquialism would be 'not as if she is going without," he said with only a twitch of his lips. 

"Indeed. She is not going without. There is myself, of course, my cousin Eduardo, our friends Leonardo and Cassio, those who make up her entourage. All of us try to appease her, satisfy her needs; still she wishes to try new ones at each stop."

Richards had stopped trying to make any sense of this conversation; frankly, he wished he'd made the introductions and got the hell out of there. This was all much more than he wanted to hear, and he worried about just what Meghada might say or do next. He remembered that dinner party quite well, and now understood much more about that night. And he knew damned well the impression Meghada was giving, had given, was purposefully misleading. Yes, she was involved, however foolishly in his mind, with the pickpocket. He had noticed some things that almost indicated an involvement with Garrison, though Richards thought that was surely a smokescreen, especially considering how her family thought of American officers. He was QUITE sure she was not involved with the whole team! Still, he could understand her motivation, and she had said 'in one sense or another', which covered a lot of ground. 

He brought his mind back to the conversation.

"I cannot explain her to you, Signore; she is the only one who might be able to do that. For me, I do not look for new thrills, new adventures; I am most content with my life as it is now, on a personal basis that is. Each of these men I love, love sincerely, each for their own sakes, each for what they offer to me, freely and willingly, for what they allow me to offer to them of myself. Their offerings, and mine, vary, and I am well content for it to be so. I do not, however, look kindly on anyone seeking to dabble their fingers over what is mine, certainly when that person is so rude as to use so much perfume on those fingers as to make it difficult to wash off. Surely, as a pianist, your wife should know, one never applies perfumes to the fingers before touching truly fine instruments; it is simply not done!", with an upraised brow.

Actor now committed a cardinal sin; he spit out the quite nice red wine he had just taken a sip of. He flushed, and apologized fervently, all to the considerable amusement of everyone in the room, except for Signore Montarelli, who was trying to follow along. 

Finally, a glimmer of amusement hit those dark eyes as well, "ah, yes. I will perhaps mention that to her; perhaps she did not make the correllation."

"Perhaps, Signore, your discussion with your wife might require more specifics. Perhaps a discussion of just what each of you, you and your cousin and your friends bring to her, and just what else she might be looking for. Perhaps even a discussion of what she brings to each of you, for surely it is meant to be a reciprocal arrangement? Perhaps some accommodation might be made to make things, uh, flow more evenly; perhaps some adjustments might make her more content? I don't know, but I do think the answer, if there is one, is with her, and you and the others of your entourage, not with anyone else." He nodded, thoughtfully, and then suggested another glass of wine, this time, for everyone in the room. 

Before he left, the Signore did ask, "would it be possible for you to send me the recipe and plating for that special dessert? My cousin said it made quite the impression on our Caterina. Perhaps I might arrange to have it served, on occasion, just to bring the memory back, yes?" Snickers filled the room, as they too remembered that dessert. Slowly the comfort level increased, though Kevin Richards still felt he was in a daze. 

It wasn't helped when, after the Signore left, Meghada confined, "I didn't have the heart to tell him his wife had offered ME an accommodation - a rendezvous afterwards, at her residence, with her bringing her three 'friends' and me bringing you five guys, for a 'lovely little interlude', a 'symphony of the senses', you know!'" shaking her head in amusement.

"Ruddy 'ell!" pretty much said it all, along with Garrison, without a word, heading down to his office and coming back with a full bottle of whisky.

"I don't know about anyone else, but I need a stiff drink to get THAT image out of my mind!"

{"Personally, I think it's going to take more than ONE drink to do that!!"} Kevin Richards told himself.


End file.
